The Left Behind Bride

by Mahrie G. Reid

  Maggie raised a hand. “Phooey on what Uncle Henry says. Being alone here isn’t the problem,” she said and frowned at the books. “The state of the accounts is.”

  He swung around the counter’s end and stood beside her. “What do you mean?”

  She pointed out what she’d found. “The families owing accounts are those who lost their wage-earners in the Gales.” Maggie sighed and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. “How can I ask them to pay when all they have are small government pensions? Look at this one. She lost a husband, a son and a brother and still has four children to support.” Being single and alone might be hard. Being a widow with children to support was harder.

  Ivan leaned a hip against the counter and crossed his arms. “How can you not?” he asked. “Looks to me like we need cash flow from somewhere.”

  “A rock and a hard place,” Maggie said and closed the ledgers. “If I could find the last inventory list, I would be better able to see how much we’ve sold this year so far.” She looked at the shelves. “How much of these goods will we be able to sell?” She strode past Ivan and started around the store’s perimeter. “These fabrics. Who here on the island can afford new clothing?” She picked up a spool of thread. “We might sell this for mending, but that won’t keep us going.”

  Ivan joined her and helped check the shelves. In the end, they figured they could sell lamp oil, flour, sugar, and tea. And maybe if the inshore fishermen did well, cigarettes, sauerkraut, and oatmeal. The set of flower-patterned dishes, the new washboards, and other household goods were less likely to sell.

  They reached the final aisle. “We’d probably sell some Lifebuoy, Ivory and washing flakes.” She ran a hand along the edge of the shelf.

  Ivan waved his hands. “It floats, it floats.” He chanted the slogan for Ivory. “If it floats, we’ll float.” He grabbed Maggie and swung her around.

  She swatted his chest. “For Pete’s sake,” she said. “You’re as incorrigible as Dad.”

  The thought stopped them both in their tracks. Maggie turned away and leaned on the small chest near the door, her chest aching. Inside the chest were a dozen bottles of that new drink, Coca-Cola. Those and the six cans of Maxwell Coffee on the shelf above the chest were items her father had added recently. At ten cents a bottle, the drink didn’t join the necessities of life. And most islanders drank tea, not coffee. She sighed. More items they might not sell. But at least her father had tried.

  She returned to the stool and, propping her elbows on the counter, held her head in her hands. How do I make this work? Can I make this work? After long minutes she sat back to see Ivan with his hand in the candy jar. “Hey,” she said and attempted a smile. “Don’t eat the profits.”

  He ducked his head but put the candy in his mouth anyway. When he looked up she caught the tail end of a grin on his face. “A penny candy won’t break us,” he said.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “You never know,” she said. “You know it’s a pebble that finally sinks the boat.”

  Ivan sucked on the peppermint, his favorite. “Will we have to sell the store? Maybe move. I can quit school and go fishing or on the Banana Boats,” he added. “And you’d be more likely to find work over in Riverport or LaHave. There’s nothing here unless the herring fishing picks up. And I don’t see you gutting fish.”

  She stared at him, his suggestions knocking her lower. She knew he wanted off the island, and had tried to convince their father to let him go to sea. Ever since Boris started as a cabin boy on his father’s ship, Ivan pushed harder. But both their parents had wanted Ivan to finish his basic education. He only had grade eleven left, one year.

  “First, we need to find out how much money the store made per month for the past year and a half. Once we know what we might bring in per month, we can decide what we need to do.” She opened the ledger. “Light the stove and put on the teapot. We have more figuring to do.”

  Making a decision to act actually helped and hope crept into her thoughts. “And we need to remember,” she said to Ivan, “we own the house, we have a woodlot for logs to heat it and oil for the lamps. If we go to the mainland, we won’t have those things.” She glanced at the row of canned corn and beans. “For now, we can eat off the shelves if need be, and we have the garden planted for fall.” The men fishing the Grand Banks would like the beans. Another item that might sell. And next winter? What then?

  She stiffened her spine. “Let’s see what we have, and what we can expect to earn before we give up.” She placed a finger on the end of August 1926 and paused. “Besides, if the store can’t support us, who would buy it?” Not a happy thought.

  * * *

  A few customers came in that day. But, all except one came to express condolences. The sales took in the princely sum of one dollar and seventy-five cents. At that rate, they’d never reach the six hundred dollars profit they needed for the year.

  “I have figured the numbers every which way but Sunday,” Maggie said to Ivan over supper that evening. “If we’re careful and if you get work this summer, we can make it.” She passed over the bowl of mashed potatoes. “We’d better get used to eating a lot of vegetables and eggs.” Or maybe she could trade eggs for fish or meat. “I won’t sell all the chicks this year. Once they’re big enough we can kill them and have a meal of chicken.”

  “We ought to kill and cook that darn rooster,” Ivan said. “It’s not so much the early morning cock-a-doodle-doing as his pecking me when I try to put them in at night.”

  Maggie laughed. “We need him though if we want those chicks. You just need to move faster.” She savored her piece of rabbit. Ivan had set out that afternoon and come home with two of them. “And I have some of my teaching money,” she said. “Dad made me save.”

  “You shouldn’t have to spend that,” Ivan said. “You might need it later.”

  “Won’t do me any good later if I starve to death in the meantime,” she said.

  Ivan shook his head. “Don’t be so gloomy, we won’t starve to death. We can live on those vegetables and eggs and maybe some cod tongues.”

  Laughter followed the bantering. As long as we can laugh, we can manage.

  Ivan cleared his plate. “Didn’t the banker want to see you?” he asked. “What did he want?”

  “I’d like to think Dad has a savings account.” Maggie sighed. “But after looking at the books, I doubt it. There are seventeen dollars in his money can.” She took the dishes to the sink before putting on the kettle. “And I gave a dollar to the minister for the funeral.”

  “His emergency money,” Ivan said. “Do you remember him ever using it?”

  “Not often. But he didn’t always tell me about the money. The only reason I know how to do the books is that Mom used to do them.” The kettle simmered quickly on the heated stove. “And he taught me after she died.” She spooned tea into the tea ball. “He took them over again about two years ago. Now I realize he didn’t want me to worry.”

  She held her face away from the steam rising in the teapot. “I suppose I’d better go and see the banker,” she said. “He did use the word soon when he told me. And he told me to bring Uncle Henry, but I won’t.” Their financial situation wasn’t discussed with Uncle Henry. Her father had been clear about that over the years. To go to Henry, even with information, would betray Dad.

  “Tomorrow then,” Ivan said. “We’ll go to Riverport.” He got up and headed toward the door. “I’ll lock up the chickens,” he said, “while you finish making the tea.”

  “Move fast,” she called after him, “or the rooster will get you.”

  Ivan scowled at her over his shoulder.

  Chapter Three

  The future has no map

  That I can see,

  But God’s unerring hand

  Will chart a way for me.

  Friday morning Maggie once again donned her best dress, her coat from her nursing days and the hat she’d made. She pinched her cheeks for a little color and scooped up her sat
chel holding their inventory and financial information. Ready for anything. Leaving Alma Mae and Chester minding the store, Maggie and Ivan headed out.

  The usual morning fog cleared by the time they reached Riverport. What does the banker want? Nothing came to mind. After the bank, I’ll check the prices at Ritcey and Creaser General Store. We need to be competitive. “Can you go looking for work?” she asked Ivan. “Ask now for when you finish the school year.”

  He nodded and edged the boat against the Ritcey and Creaser dock. Sun glittered on the waves and the day promised heat. Maggie undid the coat buttons. The warmth required on the water was no longer needed. Ivan headed to the General Store, and she crossed the street and went down to the Bank of Montreal. She arrived as they opened for the day. Inside she stood and scanned the room. She’d never been in a bank before and inhaled, noting ink, paper dust and another odor she couldn’t define.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Benson.” The bank manager greeted her. He looked past Maggie. “Where is your uncle?”

  Maggie lifted her chin. “My uncle knows nothing about our business or our lives,” she said. “I didn’t see any point in including him.”

  Mr. Macfee pulled out his pocket watch and checked it. He looked around the bank, obviously thinking. She followed his gaze, eyeing the hardwood floors, oak counters, and cabinets with drawers. Solid chairs with metal rollers and curved arms sat here and there. Two clerks worked behind the counter, their images sliced with the bars on their cages. Neither of them even looked up.

  Finally, he looked back at her and pocketed his watch. “Very well,” he said, obviously displeased. “We can start without your uncle.”

  “And,” Maggie said, sweetly, “we can continue without him.” Head high, she followed Mr. Macfee into his office, but her heart beat double time, and her chest constricted. When she was growing up, her father was the law in the house. Later the hospital doctors had dictated behavior. In both cases, men ruled, women obeyed. But I am almost thirty and educated. I can handle my own affairs.

  The banker closed the door and sat at his desk, indicating she should sit across from him.

  “Now,” she said, “what is it you need to tell me?” Although a savings account would be most welcome, she had her doubts it existed. Mr. Macfee’s stern face confirmed the doubts. Dad, what business did you do here? No answer presented itself.

  “In the past years,” Mr. Macfee said and rocked back in his chair, “following the Gales and with a decline in the fish, there have been financial difficulties in the community.”

  “Yes, I know.” Women on small pensions, families without fathers and precious little work for the women.

  Mr. Macfee continued. “The situation caused people to take actions they usually wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, there are families living together or moving away to find work.” She smiled. And, of course, many seamen have taken to bootlegging and running rum. “But what does that have to do with my father?”

  “Ah,” he said. “You are well informed for a young woman.”

  He’s stalling. Maggie inclined her head. “Women hear things, see things, and know things, sir. It is the twenties.” We aren’t in the dark anymore. She steadied her hat. At least I’m not.

  Mr. Macfee narrowed his eyes and tugged at his jacket front. “What it has to do with your father is that he borrowed money.”

  Maggie stared at him and dropped her hand to her lap. Her father borrowed money? Not possible. He didn’t believe in debt.

  But the banker opened a folder and extracted a document. He slid it across the desk. “This is the agreement.”

  Maggie picked it up and glanced first at the bottom line. Shock grabbed her chest. No doubt about it. That’s Dad’s signature. She skimmed the contents, noted the amount borrowed and the reason for the loan. So that’s how he bought the new stock. Words failed her.

  “It’s a self-liquidating commercial loan,” the banker explained. “It is paid back monthly from the sales of goods securing it. The premise is that by the time all the goods are sold, the loan has been paid in full.” He slid a second sheet of paper across the desk.

  Silence as loud as a hurricane roared in her ears. The loan payments destroyed her budget. She’d have to choose between paying the loan and eating. She sat straight, drew a deep breath and, after holding it for a few seconds, blew it out. Ivan can work this summer. I have my teaching money. And the seventeen dollars. We’ll have time to figure it out.

  She shoved the papers back across the desk. “The payments will continue,” she said, projecting an assumed assurance. “We’ll see to that. It will be paid off by the end of the year.”

  The banker rubbed his ear. “There’s a problem. And that is why I wanted you to bring your uncle. With your father gone, someone needs to sign the agreement in his place.”

  “I’m of age,” she said. “I’ll sign it. The store and contents should be enough collateral.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “What? You’re surprised I know the meaning of collateral?”

  “That’s not the problem.”

  “Then what is?”

  “You are a woman.” He stopped, throwing out his hands and shrugging.

  “What does that have to do with it?” A long pause hung between them broken only by the ticking of a clock. Maggie closed her eyes. And it hit her. She couldn’t believe his words.

  “I can’t sign because I’m a woman?” She’d never considered that. Of course, she’d never ever thought about taking out a loan. She’d had no reason to run into the problem.

  He shrugged. “Women and minors,” he said and included a reference to Ivan, “cannot take out loans. Women are not persons. You cannot legally take over your father’s debt.” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry, but it’s the law.”

  “So, where does that leave us?”

  “I am required to call for the full amount to be paid from your father’s estate.”

  “Right now? “Can’t you give us some time, to, ah, settle his estate?” We need time to move, to find jobs, to work enough to raise the money.

  He shifted. “We can allow three months to settle the estate.”

  Three months? Instead of the initial eight months? Her stomach roiled and bile soured her throat. “And then?”

  He closed the folder and his lips. His looked away. “And then I would talk to your uncle as your family’s oldest living male relative.”

  “Can you do that if I object?”

  “Yes. I can do so without your permission.” He sat back. “Or we could confiscate the goods and sell everything at auction. But we’d rather not do that. We are not in the retail business.”

  Maggie stared at him, shock chilling her blood. How could Dad leave us in this position? Anger replaced the chill and roiled through her. This is not fair.

  Mr. Macfee talked on, his voice barely penetrating the fog in her head. “Maybe you can sell some of your stock to the Ritcey and Creaser Store. Or, if there are people who owe you money, you can collect.” He paused again. “Or, you can talk to your uncle. He could sign the loan for you. Or probably he could pay it off and you could reimburse him.”

  Maggie’s blood rose in her face. She stood, clutching her satchel in both fists. I can’t believe this. I’m going to go off like a steam whistle if I don’t get out of here. “We’ll get your,” damn, “money. Give us the three months.”

  He stood. “I know you’ll do your best,” he said, doubt shading his words “I can only give you three months if you make the payments in the meantime.”

  Maggie forced her teeth to unclench so she could speak. “Thank you.” No use in antagonizing the man. He hadn’t made the laws, although men like him had. “I’ll be back with a payment next week.” About to ask him for a job, she checked her tongue. Both clerks are men.

  Her back stiff, her head high, she marched out. She looked neither left nor right. Outside, sick at heart and stomach, she turned left, headed back toward the dock and the store. I’ve never felt so help
less in my life. Just because I’m a woman. It’s damn well not fair.

  Ivan came out of Ritcey and Creaser General Store and met her. “What did he want?”

  She glared at him. In three terse sentences, she explained their situation.

  He clutched the back of his head with one hand. “That settles it then,” he said. “I’m going looking for a job, one that pays well even if it means I don’t go back to school now or in the fall.” He raised a hand. “No, no argument, Sis.”

  She stared at him, unable to refute his reasoning. “For the summer.” She put a hand on his arm. “But try the general store, or helping Mr. Zinck at the butcher shop. At the worst, get on at inshore fishing or one of the farmers,” she said. “I can’t risk losing you, too.” Fear and frustration added a fierce undertone to her words. “You stay off the ships, you hear me?”

  He shook his head and sighed but gave her a quick hug. “Okay, Sis, I’ll do that.” And he turned and strode away from her. A tall skinny kid with a man’s goals. Her heart contracted. But she’d raised him, nursed him, and taught him ever since he was four. And he’s only turning fifteen. She marched on.

  But in a fishing community, a sailing port, the young men often went to sea at thirteen. Starting as cabin boys or flunkies, they spent their lives on the ocean. She turned in at the ice cream shop and stopped with her hand on the door. If they didn’t drown young in a hurricane.

  * * *

  Curled into her coat, Maggie stared ahead to the island and braced against the ocean’s chill. Evening lengthened the shadows. Stroke by stroke, Ivan’s rowing marked the minutes, and they drew closer to the island. The evening light still showed the way, but soon night’s black cover would blanket the world. She scanned the sky. Scattered clouds created patterns, ready to obliterate the stars and moon in turn.

  The flood tide still left the boat low beside the dock. Ivan jumped up and after securing the bow rope, extended a hand to help her onto the dock. The walked through the dusk to the house, lit the oil lamps and had supper all in gloomy silence. It’s like there is nothing to say. No hope.